


Just One Yesterday

by workthewentz



Category: Fall Out Boy, Fuck City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, M/M, basically it's andy being in love and fucking it up and then patrick forgiving him, forgiveness!!! yay!!!, fuck city - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/workthewentz/pseuds/workthewentz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then and Now. A police!AU in which Andy Hurley and Patrick Stump work together on the Milwaukee County police force. When Patrick returns two years later after being severely hurt by Andy and disappearing, he comes back to work and Andy is assigned as his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**THEN** _

 

I met Patrick Stump on his first day at Milwaukee County Sheriff’s Academy. He was the quiet one, sat at the back of the lineup room around one of the four-person tables.  Blond, black baseball cap, stunning hazel eyes, silently chewing on a pen and staring at his handbook. He had to be at least fresh out of college.

I sat down next to the kid, made sure to flex my tattooed arms. “Hey.” He looked up, surprised that anyone would be speaking to him.

“Hello.” He had a clear voice, deeper than my own, which was pretty unexpected to say the least. “I’m Patrick. Patrick Stump.” He put his hand out to shake and I took it, not expecting his firm grip. Maybe he wouldn’t be as shy as I originally thought.

“I’m Andrew Hurley. My friends call me Andy. You can, too.” I already knew I liked him for some reason.

“Are you teaching here?” He asked eagerly, probably wanting an in with someone who knew everything about the place. I smirked, eyeing him through my dark sunglasses. My “first day” and already someone had asked me if I was teaching. Guess I just carried that authoritative aura with me.

I shook my head at him. “No. Policies changed, I didn’t know about them, got suspended. Now I’m here to retake classes and act as veteran for all the newbies.” I pulled my glasses down and winked at him, and he laughed, attracting the attention of my friend Matt.

Mixon pulled up a chair to the table we were sitting at and gave a low whistle. “Hurley, Hurley, Hurley. First day and you’ve already managed to pick one up? How do you do it,” Matt grinned widely at Patrick, who frankly looked a little scared.

“Don’t listen to him, Pat. This is Matthew Mixon, or as the rest of us know him, Asshole.” Matt pouted, looking a bit hurt.

“Aw come on, I’m just teasing. No need to use such harsh language.” He turned his attention to Patrick. “Matt.”

“Patrick.” They shook hands and then Matt stood up.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he winked. “Gotta set up for firearms class.”

I groaned. “Am I in that one too? I can shoot a gun, Mixon.”

“You’re a cheap shot, Andy. See you in class.” I sat my head on the table, knowing that these next fourteen weeks were going to be total and complete torture.

 

I walked into the firing range, glancing at the sheet of paper that had been handed to me with my name, gun assignment, and stall number on it. I walked down to the end, and coincidentally my firing stall was right next to Trick's.

Over the past ten weeks, Patrick and I had grown pretty close. We had discovered both of us only lived a couple blocks from the Academy, and a couple blocks away from each other. We always hung out together. We hosted parties for the Academy in the same house, and Matt kept teasing me to “just put a ring on it already, Hurley.” I wasn’t sure if I was into Trick that way, but for now I was okay just being friends.

I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. He removed his noise cancellation headphones and smiled at me. I couldn’t help but grin playfully back at him.  

“Okay, lovebirds,” Matt suddenly appeared and threw his arm around our shoulders. “Class is starting, don’t start making out or anything.” He winked at Patrick, who blushed a deep scarlet color. I frowned at Mixon, who then clapped his hands loudly as he walked off and shouted, “Okay, we’re going to change it up today! I want you all to pick partners! You’re going to clean your partner’s gun, help them if they need it, make sure it’s in pristine condition, then take turns on each other’s stalls.”

I raised my eyebrows at Patrick and he nodded, without making eye contact with me. “What’s your assignment?”

“Forty. What’s yours?”

“Thirty-six.” I reached for his gun at the same time he did and my hand was placed over his. He quickly snatched his hand back and stuttered an apology before grabbing my 42 and unloading it.

We cleaned each other’s guns in silence until Matt announced it was time to start firing. Before Trick could put on his headphones, I pulled him to the side. “If Mixon’s bothering you, just tell me. I’ll set him straight.” I cracked my knuckles and Patrick laughed.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though. You’re alright, Hurley,” he said in a nasal voice, imitating Matt. I chuckled at him and he grinned before taking his place at my stall and adjusting his headphones.

He got into firing stance, his right leg slightly behind his left and one eye closed, leaning back and crouching slightly. I admired his form as he pulled the trigger, releasing a muffled sound to my covered ears. He looked over and grinned at me; he had made a perfect head shot. I gave him a thumbs-up and pulled my own trigger, missing the head only by a couple inches. Patrick watched me shoot again, bullet landing in the same spot as before. He shook his head and stood behind me to help me with positioning.

I tensed up, sensing him a bit too close behind me. Patrick took my right arm that was straightened and bent it slightly. He then took my hips and turned me so that I was facing the target. I took a sharp breath and fired, hitting the target right in the chest. I turned around to thank him, but quickly realized that Trick’s hands were still grasping at my hips. My entire body was on fire under his touch, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than turn around and kiss the life out of him. But instead, I calmly placed my own hands over his and removed them, causing him to blush fiercely.

“S-Sorry,” he mouthed.

“It’s okay,” I told him, and he went back to my stall to fire at my target.

It scared me to death that I now missed the contact.

  
  


_**NOW** _

 

“Yo, Hurley, wanna go get lunch before your shift tonight? We can head over to Beans and Barley.” Matt dangles the offer in my face, knowing I’ll most likely refuse. These days, I prefer to sleep as much as I can after work, considering I don’t get much of it during the night.

“Nah, you know I’ve got a shift tonight. Gotta get some rest.” Mixon frowns and looks at me expectantly.

“Come on Andy, you’ve got to do something.” His voice softens. “It’s been two years since Patrick left; you’re only holding yourself back by dwelling in the past so much.”

“You try forgetting about something you know you’re going to regret for the rest of your life when it was your fault in the first place!” I snap at him, then rub my temples with my middle fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s just, how am I supposed to forget when I was the one who made such stupid decisions? I’m the one who slept with you-”

“We promised never to talk about that, remember? New starts and all that?” I chuckle at Matt, who honestly looks a bit freaked out.

“Oh man up, Mixon. I’ll go.”

“Really?” His face lights up. “Take that, world! I’ve managed to pull Andy Hurley out of recluse!”

 

I open my creaky apartment door and kick off my muddy boots. I should probably clean those off before work tonight.

I just got home from early dinner with Mixon; we ended up bar crawling, him drinking while I tried to pick up guys with no such luck. There’s not a very big gay population in Milwaukee.

I have a patrol shift tonight near Fuck City, where I lived with Mixon after college, before we decided to go into Police Academy together. He still lives there, but I moved out a few weeks into Academy when I started bringing some of the female officers around and he complained about the noise. I told him that it was ironic considering the name of the house, but Matt wasn't having it.

So I moved into an apartment closer to the Academy and when classes started again, I met him. I’ve since moved again, into a bigger and more spacious place, unable to bear living where he once did.

I open my fridge and pull out some soymilk and granola cereal, then sit down and think about tonight’s route. Nothing ever happens during my shift, so I’ll most likely buy a coffee and listen to the scanner.

 

“Have a nice night!” The barista calls out to me as I walk out of the coffee shop. I’m not wearing my police jacket because I get some nasty stares when I do, but getting into the cruiser isn’t an easy task. Two young boys pass by me and start making pig noises. I do my best to ignore them.

I pull up to the curb one street away from Fuck City, where my patrol range begins, and crank up the volume on my scanner. “We have a 215 and 207A on West Cleveland,” a static voice comes through. That’s outside of my range, though, so I start to drive around the streets.

I pass by FC and there’s a blond sitting on the front stoop, his head in his hands. He looks up when he hears the cruiser pass by and I get a glance at his face. I almost crash the car into a nearby tree.

I circle around the block again to make sure I wasn’t imagining the familiar blond man. Sure enough, he’s sitting there when I pull up. I lean out the window. “Patrick?”

“Andy?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

_**THEN** _

 

“Jesus Stump, could you at least try not to write so messily? I’d like to be able to read your form.”

“I believe his name is Jesus Christ,” Patrick joked. “And besides, you’ll be able to read it just fine. My handwriting’s not that bad.” The newbies were submitting forms to specify which kind of firearm they wanted, and guess who got the oh so pleasurable task of entering the data into the computers.

“Your firearm’s important, it can mean everything if you ever find yourself in a life and death situation,” I told Pat in all seriousness. He cracked a smile.

“That was not a life and death situation, Andy. You shot a man in the hand because he had robbed a jewelry store.”

“Hey, he was clearly armed! And how was I supposed to know that the policy changed? You steal something, you get your hand chopped off. At least, that’s how it was in the olden days. And at least I didn’t chop it off,” I mumbled.

He laughed, a warm sunshine sound that seemed to shoot straight into my veins. “Of course, Hurley. Of course.” He finished his form and sealed it in the envelope, handing it to me. “Now I expect to get mine very soon because I’m handing this to you personally and you’re going to put it in ASAP. Right?”

I sighed and took the envelope, knowing that I’d probably toss his in the pile and forget about it. “Sure, whatever.” Patrick frowned at me but went to check on the food he had in the oven. “Thanks for coming over, by the way. Jenny canceled on me and I can’t cook my own food for shit.”

“I’m here for the free veggie burgers dude, don’t mistake this as an act of kindness.” Trick laughed again, and, okay, he had to stop doing that.

 

Walking into the station together was always irritating, because Matt liked to see how easily he could make Patrick blush. He would throw his arm around Pat’s shoulders and make jokes about the two of us. Patrick, being the tomato that he was, would blush almost instantly. As time went on and Patrick got more comfortable with Mixon, the jokes kept getting worse.

“So Patrick,” Matt flung his arm over Patrick’s shoulders and gave me a shit-eating grin. “How is he in bed? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Pretty good actually,” Trick replied casually. Matt’s eyes bugged out of his skull as he choked on his own air and I stifled a laugh as he struggled to regain his composure.

“You’re an asshole,” he said to Patrick as he went bouncing off.

“Your friend, your fault,” Patrick pointed at me before he followed Matt to the locker room.

I walked into the space as Patrick was changing from his casual jacket into his work uniform. He pulled off his sweatshirt and his T shirt came with it. His pale, smooth skin and soft edges made my breathing hitch and I worked to tear my eyes away and go to my own locker to put away my belongings. Mixon came over to me then, leaning against the locker next to mine and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“What is it Matt?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t snap at me, Hurley. All I wanted to say is that the kid is totally into you, so if you want to, go for it dude.”

This time it was my eyes that bugged out of my skull. “I’m not-”

“Save it for someone who hasn’t known you your whole life. It’s not a big deal, dude. A little surprising maybe, but not a big deal. Don’t let this pass you by,” he advised.

Two weeks later, I thought that I had lost my chance. “Hey Andy!” Patrick bounced up to me, a wide grin on his face.

“Yo, Pat, what’s up?”

He widened his eyes. “Jenny asked me out,” he whispered.

I smiled at him. “That’s great, Trick! Where are you taking her?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. She’s XVX like you, so I can’t take her drinking or buy her popcorn at a movie. I need to know a really nice vegan restaurant to take her to. We’re going on Sunday.”

“She’s probably been to all the ones around here. I don’t know. There aren’t many-”

“Please, Andy?” Patrick looked at me with those big, round hazel eyes and I had to cave. I gave him the name of a restaurant two towns over and he bounced away just as quickly and happily as he had come, shouting a “Thanks Hurley!” over his shoulder. I knew I had to get him to call it off.

The next two days were total and complete hell, me breaking my back trying to get Patrick to notice small imperfections about Jenny.

“Hey Patrick, don’t you think she should re-dye her hair? The blond is showing at her roots.”

“I think it looks cool,” he sighed dreamily.

I frowned, trying to direct his attention elsewhere. “Pat, have you ever wanted to get any tattoos?”

“I have actually, since college. I was just too much of a chicken. I’ve been wanting to start a full sleeve, but no one wants to go with me.”

“I’ll go with you.” His face was graced by a wide smile. “I spend a lot of time in there anyway. It’s just two more hours, you know. When do you want to go?”

“Friday?”

“Sure,” I smile. What the fuck, Andrew? Get it together. Call this off.

“Cool,” he stood and pushed in his chair. “I’ll come and get you. Call it a date.”

  
  


_**NOW** _

 

“Patrick?”

“Andy?”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper to myself. “You’re back.” I immediately launch myself out of the police cruiser and onto the front steps of Fuck City, silently staring at the blond man. He’s changed since the two years he’s been gone. His hair is longer, blonder. Instead of his trademark baseball cap, he’s now sporting a black fedora, and his clothing seems to have gotten more expensive, black leather boots and jacket.

He notices me staring at his attire and gestures to his shoes. “Fake,” he states simply. First word he’s said to me since he left me that day.

“Fucking hell, Patrick, what-why? Why are you back?” I am surprised to find that my voice has a cutting edge to it. After all this time, you’d think that I would be ecstatic to see Patrick.

He looks down at his hands, wringing them together. I instantly remember that it’s one of his nervous habits, and instantly wish it was something I’d forgotten. “My plans in L.A. fell through. I thought I might come back here and see you. I went to your apartment but it was empty, landlord said you’d moved.” He gestures vaguely to the building in front of us. “I had to come and ask Mixon, but he isn’t here.”

“Yeah, he’s out,” I mumble distractedly, as I look down at my feet.

“Andy?” Patrick says in a small voice. I look up at him. “I’m back on the force.” I stagger back, staring at him warily.

“Why? Are you going to edge your way into my life then disappear again?” My tone is accusatory and he glares at me.

“Don’t forget why I left in the first place, Hurley. You’re the one who-”

“Don’t talk about it. _Please_ , don’t talk about it Patrick. I’ve been sitting here for two years wondering where you were, if you were okay, if you were ever going to come back. I’ve been waiting for you to call me, text me, message me on Facebook, something! No word from you and you just want to show up and casually inform me you’re joining the force again, as if you actually cared about the force at any point!”

“Don’t you fucking say that! I loved my job here! You’re the reason that I left!” His eyes are firey and his words sting and I, I just can't stay. I can't take it.

"Have a nice night, Trick." I make my way down the steps and into the cruiser, speeding off. I make sure that I don't pass Fuck City again that night.

He's writhing under me, yelling in pleasure, begging me to go harder, faster. He twists his fingers in my hair and moans lowly, pushing against me with equal force. "Fuck-shit!" I yell, a bit too loud for my own liking. My palm comes up to slam against the tiles on the shower wall and streaks of white go down the drain.

Through my heavy breathing I manage to form one coherent thought: I am completely and utterly fucked.

 

The next morning at the station is hell. The amount of coffee I had to ingest to get up this morning is ungodly, and now that I'm awake and the caffeine is pumping through my system, I jump at every sound and shield my eyes at every bright light.

"Whoa, Hurley, you don't look so good," Matt comes up behind me suddenly. I reflexively throw a weak punch, thankfully missing him. His eyes widen. "What's wrong, dude?"

"Sorry, too much caffeine. No sleep." I wipe my tired eyes as Mixon directs me to a chair in the main room and pulls one up himself.

I sit down and rub my temples. "Shit, what's got you so messed up man?"

"Patrick's back." Mixon immediately tenses. "He's back on the force. What am I going to do?”

Matt shakes his head. "I don’t know man."

Patrick walks up to us then. “Hey Andy,” he says cheerfully. “Hey Mixon,” he adds to Matt, not wanting to be rude. I can see the distaste in his eyes, and I understand why, but he doesn't have to be quite so blunt about it.

Matt stands immediately. “I just remembered I have to be in the break room right about now. I-I’ll see you later Andy. Patrick.” He rushes off.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter under my breath.

“Now, now, not a very nice way to talk about your best friend’s mother now is it?” Patrick chastises playfully, as he sits down in Mixon’s seat. I look up to quickly glare at him and his eyes widen. “Whoa, you look like shit. Are you okay?”

“You mean other than the five coffees I inhaled on the way here? Yeah, I’m awesome,” I deadpan, as he chuckles softly at me.

“You have got to stop OD’ing on caffeine, Mr. Straightedge.”

“Hey Pat? Do me a favor? Shut up,” I groan, feeling a serious headache coming on. I rub my fingers against my temples, trying to get the blood flowing into my brain.

“Are you okay? You shouldn't be out in your condition," he muses, more to himself than to me. "I should take you home." He looks at me, and I raise my head, immediately wincing. "Yeah, home for sure."

He stands up and helps me up, because by this time my I’m squinting and I can’t keep my head up without feeling like rocks are crushing my brain. Patrick takes my arm and manhandles me into the parking lot despite my protests. “Where’d you park?”

“Patrick, I-”

“Where. Did. You. Park?” He asks me sternly, leaving no room for argument. I fish the keys to my cruiser out of my pocket and hand them over scowling, as I point to one of the cars closest to the building. He walks over and unlocks the doors, going around to the drivers’ side.

“I can drive my own car, Patrick,” I tell him, then wince when I realize my tone is too loud.

“Mhm, sure you can,” he tells me sarcastically. “I’m taking you home.” He pulls out of the lot, waving to the guard at the gate and speeding off towards my apartment. I attempt to give him directions, but he interrupts me, saying, “I know where it is.” How he knows where I live is beyond me, but I decide not to give it much thought.

We quickly arrive at my place and I unlock the front door, taking my boots off and sitting them under the coat rack. Patrick follows me in and does the same, reminding me of when we lived together and he would come home soon after me, cooking dinner and we would sit on the couch watching primetime TV. I blink back tears in my eyes as he whirls around, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

“Go get into bed,” he says, and I nod. I hear some banging around in the kitchen, and I assume he’s making me something to eat. He knows where everything is already; my habits haven’t changed.

He comes in about ten minutes later with a bowl of soup. I’ve changed into my pajamas, consisting of an old t shirt and boxers.

“You have no fresh vegetables,” he complains. “I had to use canned green beans. Do you know how gross canned green beans are? Some vegan.” I just scoff at him. I’m not some vegan. I’m _the_ vegan.

Pat takes it upon himself to sit on the edge of my bed and make sure that I’m comfortable, crossing his legs and staring at the TV while I eat.

When the bowl of soup is almost empty, I sit it on my nightstand. “Pat?” He turns to face me, hazel eyes questioning. “What were you doing in L.A.?”

“Well you know I was gonna go into music before I decided to come to the police academy.” I nod, remembering Patrick telling me of how his band had a huge fall out and it made him want to leave the industry. “I reunited with my best friend from the band and we produced a record together for this new band. I was featured on some of the tracks. But last minute, their label said they wanted experienced producers. So we scrapped the record and I had nothing else to do. I figured I’d come back here and go back to work.”

“But… Why here? Aren’t you still angry?” I ask him in confusion. His eyes and mouth turn down at the corners and he smiles sadly.

“Angry doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about you, Andy. But that’s a conversation for another time. You need to get some sleep. I’ll let myself out.” He closes the door behind him and I hear the muffled sound of him exiting my apartment.

I glance at the crease in the bedspread. “That’s what he does,” I mumble to no one. “He comes and he goes, but he always leaves traces behind.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're baaaaaack!
> 
> Hey guys; I'm so sorry I've been gone so long. I just found the inspiration to start writing again. Hopefully I'm going to be updating my other two fics on this account sometime this week as well.
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos and comments!

_**THEN** _

 

“Fucking hell, yes, I’m getting a tattoo,” Patrick sang on the way into town. He bounced in his seat and I, who was unfortunately on the passenger side and the receiving end of Patrick’s excitement, groaned loudly.

“Yes, Pat, you are. Could you shut up now?” Patrick just gave me a death glare and continued singing his made-up song. I knew that Patrick was a great singer; I had asked him numerous times why he joined the force instead of going into music. Bad band breakup, he’d told me.

“Could you not be such a wet blanket?” He pouted at me. I had to look away from his eyes; his pupils were dilating in and out, adjusting to the sunlight, and I tried to take my mind off of him and focus on the road.

“Who even says wet blanket anymore?” I teased him. “Get with the times, Trick.”

“Oh whatever, Andy. Stop dulling my excitement. What do you think I should get?”

I pulled my sleeves up to show him my colorful array of tattoos. I pointed to my left arm. “See, this one is my positive arm. It’s got pretty much everything good that’s ever happened to me documented in some way.” My right. “Negative. Some bad shit, Stump. Bad shit.” Patrick was frowned for a moment, but looked over at me and laughed when he noticed the smile I was trying to hold back.

“So, you’re saying you think I should get something meaningful?”

“It’s your choice. I’m just saying, it’s going to be on your body forever, why not make it something that represents who you are?” He nodded thoughtfully.

“I think I know what I’m getting.”

 

“This is fucking killing me,” Pat groaned. “I didn’t think it would hurt so bad afterwards.”

“Well I tried to warn you,” I said, and obviously my told-you-so was unappreciated, because Patrick sent a cold glare my way. “Don’t look at me like that,” I grinned. He had gotten a sun setting over water, in bright purples and blues, on his inner arm, and it was a beautiful tattoo but I knew it hurt like hell.

He hadn’t explained what the tattoo meant, though. That was one piece of mysterious information I was praying I’d find out soon enough.

“I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Oh, no you don’t. Your arm is hurting and you’re going to whine about it every two minutes. I’ll just throw a pizza in the oven.”

I jogged around the kitchen, throwing around vegan ingredients-thank god Patrick didn’t mind eating my food-and then went to put on a movie in the front room. “I think Captain America?” I held up the box over my shoulder. “Or, have you seen the second one? I just got it.”

Patrick came to kneel beside me near my movie collection, his not-tattooed arm brushing mine. “I haven’t seen it, but I’m definitely up for a marathon,” he grinned.

“Okay, so the Captain America movies. Fine by me-” And then I cut myself off, because Trick leaned his head on my shoulder, practically nuzzling me, his hair flopping over and tickling my neck. I froze, still as a statue. When he realized I wasn’t going to say anything else, he lifted his head and started stuttering apologies.

“Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t think…” On impulse, I leaned in and lightly touched my lips to his. He was shaking, and his breath was hot on my mouth where his was open slightly. I reached out to touch his waist, but the timer for the pizza rang and he pulled away suddenly. “I’ll-I’ll just go and grab that.”

  
  
  


_**NOW** _

 

I wake up, looking at the analog clock beside my bed. 10:09. “Shit, I am so late.” I grab my phone off of my bedside table and click the lock button, but it doesn’t open. “Damn it. Dead.” I plug it in and go hop in the shower-I smell like I got hit by a truck full of coffee beans.

I come back in, towel-drying my hair, and there are a bunch of messages on my lock screen, all from Patrick, Jenny, and Mixon.

_Hey. -Trick_

_Hey, where are you. -Trick_

_Call me. -Jenny_

_Andy, you need to come in now. -Jenny_

_Hey dude, I’m at the hospital. -Matt_

I almost scroll past Matt’s message, but then I panic and open my phone, instantly calling Mixon.

“Hello?” He answers, groggy.

“Hospital? Which one? What happened? I’m on my way. What’s your room number? Are you okay?”

Matt chuckles. “Alright, Hurley, calm down. I’m fine. My ribs? Not so much. I’ll explain when you get here. I don’t know my number. Just ask at the desk.”

“You’ve got to be the only man in Wisconsin who doesn’t know his hospital room number.”

“On the contrary,” Mixon laughs dryly. “I think the dude in a coma that I’m sharing a room with might not know his room number either.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’m on my way.” I shrug on my police jacket and head out into the kitchen. In my rush, I almost miss how clean it is, and the piece of paper covered in quick, slanted print left on the counter.

 

_Andy,_

_I hope you’re feeling better. I threw the extra soup into a thermos. It’s in the fridge. You’re gonna have to reheat it. (Don’t microwave the thermos.)_

_I’m sorry._

_Tricky_

 

My face goes bright red at reading it. He even signed it Tricky. Fucking idiot, did this on purpose. I quickly pocket the note and leave my apartment.

 

“How the _fuck_ did you break your ribs?” I ask Matt. I’m standing in his hospital room in my police jacket, staring at the bandages on his chest.

“I got beat up. I was out on patrol and some kids jumped me in a back alley,” Mixon spits. “I can’t work anymore, Hurley. I’m never going to be able to completely breathe, so I can’t run. I’m going to be demoted to desk.”

My face fell. Mixon had been my partner since we both joined the force. It had been years. “You’re just quitting?”

Matt closed his eyes and rubbed his index fingers against his temples. “Trust me, I already tried to find an out with the doctors. There’s nothing I can do.”

I sit down in the chair beside his bed. “So you weren’t joking about the room,” I laugh, gesturing to the comatose patient behind the curtain on the other side of the room.

“Nope. But the weirdest thing happened last night. I swear I heard him _snoring_.”

 

I walk into the station and Jenny immediately greets me. “Hey! I’m not on patrol right now; do you wanna grab coffee and fill me in on what happened to Mixon? I’ll tell you your new partner assignment.” She looks at me with a frown and my eyes widen.

“Holy shit, Jenny, please tell me it’s not-”

“It’s Patrick,” she nods. I put my hand to my forehead.

“Wow, I think I have a fever. I might need to go home.” Jenny laughs at me.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to face your problems head on.” She leads me over to the break room, smirking. “He’s in there. Go talk to him. I’m sure he’s excited to be working with you again.”

“Stuff it Jennifer.” She wiggles her eyebrows and walks away, and I laugh. “This is all going to go to such shit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short! I'm hoping to update more, with less time in between, so chapters may not be very long. Thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

_**THEN** _

 

“You did _what_?”

“I fucking kissed him, okay! He was leaning all over me so I kissed him.”

Matt cracked up laughing on the other end, and I lost my temper. “I’m going to punch you in the fucking face next time I see you, asshole. My homosexual crises are nothing to laugh at.”

“Okay okay, sorry,” Matt apologized, but I could tell he wasn’t sorry at all. “What did he say?”

“I mean, at first it was cool, then he like pulled away and we didn’t talk about it.” I could hear Matt sighing over the phone.

“Did he leave?”

“Nope.”

Matt started laughing again. “You just have no fucking relationship experience, do you?” He asked incredulously. “He wanted you to do it again!”

I sputtered on the other end of the phone, and when Matt didn’t say anything else, I hung up on him. I turned my phone over in my hands a couple times, debating whether or not I should call Patrick.

“Hello?” He answered the phone tentatively, and I cringed.

“Hey Do you want to talk about it?” I said too quickly, and cursed under my breath. There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Trick?”

“Um, um yeah, sure.” I almost fell off the couch when his voice came quiet through the phone. “I called off my date with Jenny. Do you want to go out somewhere?”

 

I tugged on the bottom of my button-down as I stood outside the park gates. I wondered if I was overdressed, even though I was only in black jeans and carrying a vegan leather jacket. I checked the time on my phone again. He was five minutes late. _What if he stood me up?_ I thought. _No, it’s Patrick. He wouldn’t do that._ I looked up and Patrick was walking across the street, in an outfit similar to mine, except he was wearing his police jacket and his hat was hanging from his pocket instead of on his head, the wind tousling his hair.

“Hey,” I smiled. He grinned back at me and for a second I forgot my nervousness and tilted my head inside the park. “Wanna go walking?”

We strode side by side for a good five minutes, just talking about how our days off had gone.

“My tattoo’s started healing. Thanks for taking me to get it. I love it.”

“Can I see?” He took off his jacket slowly and pulled the sleeve of his shirt up, twisting his arm so I could see the ink. It was possibly more vibrant than before, even in the low light, and I ran my fingertips over his arm and down to lace my fingers in his. He didn’t pull away and I moved closer. “Is this okay with you?” I asked. He looked into my eyes and nodded. I kissed him on the cheek, my stubble scratching his smooth skin. His eyes fluttered closed softly and the corners of his mouth turned up. I smiled at him and pulled away, tugging him along, our fingers still interlocked.

 

Eventually we reached the front gate again and I pulled my hand away. “I don’t wanna-y’know, be too forward or anything, but, I like you, and-” This time it was Trick that cut me off. He leaned forward slightly and pressed his lips against mine, gently but firmly, and I stopped breathing. He looped his arms around my shoulders and his fingers dug into the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I set my hands on his hips and he grinned against my lips, .

“You kiss like a fucking teenager.”

 

When I finally arrived home, having taken the long way, Matt was sitting on my couch with a soda watching Captain America and scrolling through Twitter, laughing. “What the fuck, dude?”

He paused the movie, then turned around and looked at me expectantly. “How was it?”

“How was what? What are you talking about?" _And more importantly, how are you in my house?_

“The sex with Patrick, dude! How was it? Is he loud?” Mixon wiggled his eyebrows and I lost it, clutching my stomach and doubling over in laughter.

“We went to the park, Matt.”

“You can have sex in a park! You just need a really sturdy tree and some-”

“Mixon!”

“Okay, okay. What happened?”

I recounted the story to Matt, while he oohed and aahed at certain points and I hit him on the shoulder. At the end of it he asked me, “So are you two together or what?”

 

When Patrick walked into the station the next day, I intercepted him as he was clocking in, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, Trick,” I smiled at him.

“Oh, hi Andy!” He wrapped his free arm, the one that wasn’t holding his duffel bag, around my waist.

“So, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. I know this really great Italian place, and they’ve got a vegan menu.” When he didn’t respond right away, I blundered on. “I mean, I know Italian is your favorite, but if you don’t want to go there, we can always do something else. I like bowling, or just watching a movie at my place?” Patrick laughed and I looked over at him curiously. He winked at me, and pecked me on the lips.

“Italian’s fine, Hurley. Seven?” I nodded dumbly as he walked away, hitching his duffel onto his shoulder, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and tapping on it.

Jenny bounded up to me as I stared after Patrick. “Okay, so are you going to tell me what the hell that was? Or am I going to have to figure it out on my own?”

I grinned at her. “Mad I stole your man, Jennifer?”

She groaned. “You know I hate being called Jennifer, _Andrew_. And no. I thought I sensed something going on. I just didn’t think you swung that way. You guys are cute together.”

“I don’t even know if we’re actually together,” I told her, and tipped my head back against the wall.

“You guys looked pretty together to me.”

She walked away towards the locker rooms and I followed, wanting to catch Mixon before he went out on patrol.

  
  


_**NOW** _

 

I step into the break room and, just my luck, Patrick is the only person there. His face brightens instantly when he sees me and I swear under my breath.

“Andy! How are you feeling? Are you better? Did you see the note I left?” He walks up to me and places the back of his hand onto my forehead. I immediately take a step back, and he recoils as if I’d hit him.

“What-” he begins to ask, but I cut him off.

“Just because,” I pause and take a deep breath. “Just because I let you take care of me when I was sick, doesn’t mean that you’re forgiven. I’m not-we’re just partners Patrick. Nothing else. I decided it was a good thing you were gone a year ago, and I am not going back on that.” I turn on my heel and walk out of the room, practically slapping myself in the face for talking to Patrick that way. _Great thinking, you idiot. Now things are going to be tense on patrol later. Get your emotions together._

For some reason I can’t find any remorse among all the pain.

 

Mixon walks up to me as I’m fixing my holster belt. “Hey Hurley, Pat’s been asking people where you are. I guess he needs to talk to you. What happened?”

I sigh before answering. “I told him off.” I yank my belt, buckling it too tightly, and wince, readjusting.

“What do you mean you told him off? I thought you guys were getting along.”

“He can’t do this, Matt. He can’t come back and-and try to weasel his way back into my life. Taking care of me when I’m sick?” I jam my gun into its holster and Matt puts his hands up in surrender. “Leaving me a note? Signing it Tricky? It’s like he’s trying to act like he never left.” I look around the table I’m standing near frantically. “Where is my _badge_?” Matt grabs it out of my bag and holds it up. I smile at him. “Thanks. I just don’t know how to feel about him.”

“Do you still love him, Andy?” He tilts his head, almost examining me.

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” I mutter.

“Then you know how you feel about him.” He points over his shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

I walk over to where Patrick is standing on the opposite side of the room, staring at my feet. I reach his table, where he’s sitting laughing with Jenny, and he looks up at me. His smile fades instantly and it’s like a punch to my stomach.

“Hey Patrick, can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I wait for him to get up then walk over to lean against the wall. He stares at me expectantly.

“Are you going to say something?” He asks. “Or are you going to yell at me again?”

“Yeah, about that. I’m really sorry Trick. I’m really having a difficult time with you just showing up here, and I want to start over.” I look up at him and he’s grinning, his hazel eyes shining.

“Yeah-yeah, we can start over. We have to go on patrol now, though.” He walks towards the door, and I follow. “Can we take your car? The plates for mine haven’t come back in yet.”

“Of course. It’s parked just out front.”

 

Patrick and I drive around my patrol range, listening to the scanner and looking for any suspicious activity, occasionally writing parking tickets for cars parked in inappropriate spots. He tells me about the band he worked with in Los Angeles, and how incredibly stuck-up they were.

I laugh at one story in particular, where the lead singer spilled coffee all over the sound board, then proceeded to storm out complaining about how long it would take to get fixed.

“Why on earth would you work with them?”

“Their music was good! I missed the industry. It was nice getting back behind the soundboard, even if it was sticky from the coffee.”

“Speaking of coffee,” I pull into a parking space and point at a Starbucks. “Do you want a cup?” Patrick nods and I duck out of the car and into the shop, battling the fall wind.

I come out with two black coffees, and hand one to Trick through the window, dropping it before he can get his hands on it.

“Shit!” He breathes. “Do you have napkins?”

“Check the glove compartment,” I frown. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll wash the upholstery later.”

Patrick opens the glove compartment and the napkins fall out, along with the car’s manual and a small piece of paper. He scoops the napkins up along with the paper, and drops them into his lap when he realizes what it is.

He holds it up for me to see, smiling sadly. It’s a photo of us, when we had first moved into our apartment, our arms around each other and my lips on his cheek while he laughed, eyes closed. I guess it was Mixon that had taken the photo.

“We were so happy there,” Patrick whispers. “Remember when we got snowed in that one time, and you had to live on lentils? You complained about it for three whole days.” He laughs, and yeah, I remember.

“I never wanted to see a bean again in my life.” His laughter is contagious, and soon we’re both doubled over in our seats. I look over at him, wishing things could go back to the way they were, before we damaged each other so badly. He catches my eye, and suddenly he’s no longer laughing, but his eyes are flickering down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. He leans into me, and I meet him in the middle, our lips connecting. The contact sends a chill through me, and I instinctively reach up to thread my hands through his hair. He pulls away and stares at me, pupils blown, lips wet, and I pull him close again. We only break apart to breathe, leaning against our respective windows.

“I think I’ll go grab you another coffee.” I once again dive out of the car, and into the coffee shop, wondering if everyone in the building can sense how wound up I am.

_What did I just do?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I've updated (almost) within a month this time! I finally had time to sit down and really plan out what I want to do with the plot, instead of just winging it, and I've got my writing mojo back, so I plan to update again within two weeks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this has taken so long. I wish I had a good excuse, but I changed the last few scenes so many times because none of the ones I had felt right at all. They were too OOC, or too long, or just not good. So I hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed rewriting it! Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long. (I feel like I say that every chapter.)

_**THEN** _

 

“So I’m sitting here, in the car, trapped by tree limbs, and Joe is trying to pull the one away from the door so I can get out-and then here comes the fucking squirrel.” I practically fell out of my chair, clutching my stomach with laughter, as Patrick spoke.

The restaurant around us was loud, on account of being one of the busiest places in town. It was also the best vegan Italian place in Milwaukee, and I made a point of telling Patrick this while the waiter was standing at our table.

He was in the middle of telling me some crazy story from his band days, one where his guitarist had crashed their van while touring.

The waiter brought our plates to the table, and Patrick immediately dove into his pasta-which he had ordered without any mistake, while I could barely pronounce my dish.

"This is amazing," he groaned. "I need to learn how to make this at home." We ate quietly, only pausing to comment and laugh at the surrounding tables' conversations.

The waitress sat the check down on the table and Patrick immediately reached in his back pocket. I stared at him until he looked at me curiously.

"What?"

"I can get the check." I pulled my wallet out of my pocket.

"Are we really going to have the check fight?" he asked me, grinning. "Is that like a staple of homosexual relationships?"

"The check fight has actually become very common in heterosexual relationships too, due to the ever-increasing amount of money women make. Sadly they're still not paid equally, but it's better than it was fifty years ago." Patrick waited for me to finish, still smiling, then stuck his credit card into the slot on the check holder.

"You can get it next time."

"Fine."

I drove Patrick back to his apartment with one of my favorite bands' albums screaming through the car's stereo system. Patrick knew every word to most of the songs and sang loudly, despite his aversion to singing in front of me, which he'd made clear. When I asked him about it, he smiled sheepishly. "I'm diverse."

Once we got to Patrick's apartment, I parked right in front of the complex and walked him to the door. "Did you wanna come in?"

"Actually, I've got plans with the FC crew. I'd love it if you came. We're going to the club on 10th. I'm going home first cause I'm kinda overdressed, but I'd love to meet you there."

"Yeah, sure. I'll meet you." He leaned in to peck me on the cheek, but I turned my head at the last second and kissed him full on the lips, sliding my hands around his waist. Once I pulled away, he laughed and smacked my chest with the back of his hand. "That's not fair!"

"See you soon Pat!" I called as I walked back to my car.

 

Mixon clapped me on the back when I walked up to the small table he and Jenny were sitting at. “Hey dude!” he yelled over the music. “They changed edge night,” he frowned. “But they did change the food. They do vegan now.”

My face brightened up instantly. Vegan at Bogart's always meant amazing fries.

Someone came up behind me and wrapped their arm around my shoulder. I spun around quickly, and came face to face with the cute guy from earlier at the restaurant.

Patrick was dressed in a black button down with a red cardigan and jeans that outlined his hips perfectly. His hat was missing, but I chalked that up to not wanting to lose it in the club.

"Hey, Tricky," I called over the bar noise. I leaned in to kiss his cheek, grazing the corner of his mouth, and Mixon cheered behind me while Patrick blushed. I yanked him over to our table and he slid into the seat next to mine, sliding his hand onto my thigh and squeezing. I froze.

I jumped as the server came over to our table, leaning close to Jenny. Her shirt dipped down into a V in the front, and Jenny’s eyes widened slightly.

"Hi, I'm Luke," she smiled. "What can I get you all?" Jenny didn't give her a second glance and ordered a large vegan fry basket for us all to share and three coffees; Patrick however went for a beer.

Four more beers and a few stimulating conversations later, Patrick was Mr. Worldwide himself, having learned the names of nearly everyone in the bar-not that he could remember them correctly.

He was in the middle of telling some story about a dream that he'd had. I was gazing at his face, giggling at his drunken state. He suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence, mouth dropping open as he stared at something across the room.

I followed his line of sight to a guy with average height and a huge mass of gigantic curly hair, and tattoos covering his arms not unlike my own. Patrick stared for a bit, but then his face broke into a grin. He jumped from his chair and bounded over to the guy, who wrapped him in a bear hug. I felt my mouth turn down at the corners but Patrick turned back and motioned to me, so I followed.

"...He had another kid? Wow-oh here's Andy!" Patrick turned to me as I walked over, grinning, and slid an arm around my waist. "Joe, this is my boyfriend Andy. Andy, this is Joe, one of my old bandmates."

I shook the curly headed dude-Joe's-hand and then leaned back against the bar. Patrick's hand had moved down to my hip and he flexed his fingers. I laughed, surprised that Patrick didn't mind being so close. "So you're the infamous Trohman, huh?" Patrick removed his arm and wandered over to the bartender, likely for another beer. "I've heard a lot. Earlier Trick was telling me this one story about a van crash and a squirrel?" Joe's eyebrows shot up when I used Patrick's nickname but he groaned loudly.

"Oh god, I have literally begged him to forget about that. It's the hair-it attracts strange people _and_ animals." We laughed, and Joe leaned in a bit closer and his voice lowered, a bit unnecessary in the loud space, but I figured he liked to dramatize a bit.

"So how's he doing? We haven't talked a lot since he left Chicago, but he and the other band members' fall out was horrible. Ruined Patrick for months." This was the first I had heard of Patrick being down because of his former band; he had always seemed so bitter talking about it with me.

“He’s been fine so far; I think he might stay that way.”

Joe opened his mouth to press me for specifics, but then Patrick came back, practically skipping up to us.

“Hey Andy! Matt’s looking for you. Seemed urgent.” I smiled at Joe.

“Nice to meet you, man. See you.” Then I turned to Trick. “I’ll be back soon.” I kissed him on the cheek and then went over to see Matt.

 

Turns out Matt’s problem wasn’t urgent; he simply couldn’t figure out why Jenny was glued to our now off-shift waitress.

“Why is she paying so much attention to _her_?” Jenny seemed transfixed as the waitress waved her hands around, seemingly telling her some crazy story. I watched Matt while he watched them from across the bar with a frown on his face. I slapped him on the back and laughed as I walked back over to Patrick. But I stopped short when I saw Joe hanging on him, one arm thrown over his shoulder. Joe whispered something into his ear, and Patrick’s face turned red. I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall I was on and watched them, fully aware that I was staring. Patrick caught my eye and slowly removed Joe’s arm from his shoulder, saying something to him and then coming over to me.

“Hey Andy,” he said, voice low and breathy, a bit slurred from all the drinks. He leaned against the wall next to me. “You alright?”

“I’m good,” I said coldly. “Just… thinking about how close you two are.” I stared at the curly-headed man from across the bar.

“Joe?” Patrick sounded affronted, and I worried that I had said the wrong thing. “We’re friends, Andy. You’re the one I’m thinking about all the damn time. _Hm, wonder whether Andy would like this on me? What the hell is he gonna think of me at dinner tonight?_ ” As Patrick talked, he stepped closer to me until we were toe to toe. I thought for a second that he would try and hit me, but then he slid a hand around the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the hair there. I tipped my chin back and closed my eyes, melting into his touch. He tightened his fingers experimentally and I flinched, but before I could react his mouth was on mine.

Kissing drunk Patrick was almost better than kissing sober Patrick; his hands were more sure as he brushed his tongue against mine. I moaned into his mouth and my face turned red, but any embarrassment melted away as Trick wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My hips ground against his of their own accord. His lips moved against mine and his hand tightened in my hair. He pulled back and I opened my eyes, blinking against the bar light. He looked at me for a second, then stepped back, grinning, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smile stirred something in my chest, and soon I was smiling back.

“D’you wanna take me home?”

  
  


_**NOW** _

 

By now our shifts are over, so Patrick and I drive to the station in complete silence. He leans his head against the passenger side window and looks at the passing city, and I don't dare try and talk to him.

I pull into my numbered parking space in the staff lot and Patrick practically jumps out of the cruiser. I called after him before he can go into the building and he spins around quickly, giving me an accusatory glare and walking around the car to me.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks, standing so close to me we were almost nose to nose. My mind goes blank, my mouth dry as I remember the feeling of his lips against mine. I vaguely realize he's angry at _me_ and my face heats as I lean back against the car.

"Takes two to tango, Trick. If I remember correctly, you kissed me right back."

He stutters, trying to come up with a response, and I take the opportunity to press my lips firmly against his. He kisses back eagerly, his breath hot on my mouth as he leans away slightly.

"Screw you," he mutters against my lips, then yanks my waist forward to press himself against me as he leans back in.

 

Trick and I walk back into the station together. He makes a face as he rubs at his mouth and looks at me. My brows furrow in confusion and I frown, but he turned away and went into the locker room without saying a word to me.

Matt strolled towards me, and I waved my hand vaguely at him.

"What's wrong with you two? You seemed fine earlier."

"We kissed."

Matt stopped short. "What?"

"Twice," I deadpanned.

"What the fuck, Hurley? Why aren't you guys getting along then?"

My eyes almost began to water as I remembered those first few months after he had left. Calling his phone to hear his voicemail every day, staying up because I was too scared that something would happen to him to sleep. But I pulled myself together.

"I don't know, Mixon. There's something about us."

 

I invite Patrick over, now that we're back to being cordial. We sit on opposite sides of the couch, holding sodas, and stare at the TV. The first Fast and Furious is on. Patrick fidgets and plays with the hem of his shirt.

"So... Where you staying?" I ask him, trying to make small talk. His silence is killing me. We need to talk about those kisses.

"Here and there. A hotel, right now." He looks over at me and sees my eyebrows raised in curiosity. How the hell can he afford to stay in a hotel every night? "Technically I still work for the record company, so I still get a paycheck from them. They're probably going to call me back to work on something in a month or so. By then I'll have quit once I find something here."

The words fly out of my mouth automatically, before I even realize I'm saying them. "You can stay here. You know, until you find a place.

Patrick's eyes widen in what could be fear. "No, I can't do that. I don't want to intrude. Besides, you've only got a one bedroom."

 _You could sleep with me_ , I think. But no, that's not a good idea. Not at all.

"I could take the couch, and you could have my room."

"I can't do that. That would be rude," he mutters, eyes cast downwards. Ah, yes, Patrick, the epitome of niceness.

"No, I'm serious. The couch lets out, I can sleep out here and you can sleep in there." He's about to protest again, so I say, "Fine. The couch has an open invitation too."

"I won't take your bed," he grins. "But I can deal with the couch. Thanks, Andy."

I make a vague sound that could be taken as a 'don't mention it' and stand up to go to the kitchen and make myself something to eat. The fridge is practically empty so I grab a few carrot sticks and some hummus and go back to sit on the couch.

 

I half open my eyes, and instantly feel a weight on my shoulder. I look over and Patrick is leaning on me, practically nuzzling my neck, breathing lightly with his eyes closed. My mind takes me back to a very similar memory, the first time I kissed him in what would soon become our family room. When I would soon become his family.

The movie credits are rolling and I don't see any light coming through the blinds. I look at Patrick sleeping peacefully, and there are bags under his eyes, signaling that he hasn't been sleeping well lately. I don't want to wake him up.

I slowly slide my arms underneath him. He isn't light, but he isn't as heavy as some of the weights I've lifted either, so I pick him up with minimal effort. He curls up against me and I'm able to get him to my bedroom without tripping over my own two feet.

I lay Patrick down on top of my covers and slide an extra comforter over him, and go out into the front room to sleep on the couch.

 

I'm laying in bed, reading the Thoreau novel I've read a hundred times, but I can't see the text and everything's fuzzy around the edges. Patrick comes into my room with wet hair, only a towel wrapped around his waist, and sits down on my edge of the bed. There are two nightstands in the room.

"Whatcha reading?" He asks me playfully. I flash the cover at him and go back to reading. "Time is but the stream..." I quote at him. He smiles at me and takes the book out of my hands, sitting it on my nightstand, and leans in to kiss me.

"You're wet," I try and swat him away, but he somehow manages to straddle me, grinning. I could easily pin him down, but then I wouldn't want to stop there, and where would that get us?

I pull him down for a kiss, massaging the back of his neck knowing that that's what gets him to open up to me, but he won't speak. He won't make a sound. He stops responding eventually, and the room gets even fuzzier, turning into something surreal as he pulls away from me. I stare up at him in confusion, still sitting in my lap. "Trick?"

"You think I'd want to touch you after you did what you did to me?" I flinch, because his voice isn't his at all. It's monotone, empty, cold, the same one he used when he told me he was leaving me. "You think I'd want your tongue in my mouth? Your fingers rolling up and down my spine? You think I'd still want to suck you off like I did before then, that I would let you make love to me?"

 

I shake myself awake, opening my eyes and realizing that no, it was just another dream, I'm here. I'm not back in the old apartment, having a screaming match with him.

My eyes are wet. Fucking subconscious.

I glance at my phone sitting on the coffee table. _6:22_. Nice.

I sneak into my bedroom, not wanting to wake Patrick sleeping in my bed, and grab a grey pair of running shorts out of my top drawer. I yank off the itchy polyester pants and T shirt I wear to work and pull the shorts on over my boxers, grabbing my shoes from under the bed. There's a water bottle sitting on the counter and I grab it on my way out, leaving the door unlocked in case Trick isn't there when I get back.

 

The dream from earlier gave me an adrenaline rush, and I've run my five miles and arrived back at the apartment complex before I need to be. I open the door and there's humming coming from the kitchen. I'm instantly taken back to our home two years ago, when I'd go for my run and come in and he'd have breakfast sitting on the table, with eggs for him and-

I come into the kitchen and my train of thought immediately stops. My kitchen table is set. Really set. There's orange juice in a pitcher that I haven't used in forever, and my plate's already made, some kind of omelette with chicken and cheese. Patrick's standing by the stove smiling, and he puts his own omelette on his plate. "It's tofurkey and Daiya," he explains. I just nod, knowing he wouldn't feed me regular food, and sit down.

Patrick brings his plate to the table and glances at me, frowning because I haven't touched my food.

"You didn't eat before you left, did you? I didn't see any dishes in the sink..."

"No, I didn't! I just wasn't expecting to come home-back! Back to the, uh, apartment. With breakfast already made." I flash him a smile, and it seems to appease him. He still looks exhausted, but he's got a cup of coffee sitting in front of him. I pick up my fork and take a huge bite of my omelette, noticing how much better he's gotten at cooking and thinking about how I almost called my apartment home, how for a moment it felt like the past two years hadn't happened.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to avoid cliches, but sometimes they can be so enticing.  
> If I say "I promise I'll update soon" one more time I'm probably going to get struck by lightning...

_**THEN** _

Patrick unlocked the door to his apartment and my mouth was immediately on his, hungry and wanting, and I pressed him against the wall next to the door.

He tried to undo the top button of my shirt with shaky hands, but I caught them in mine and put them down by his sides.

He looked at me, confused, and frowned.

"We're not going to do that while you're drunk," I told him firmly.

"I'm barely even drunk," he protested. His eyes widened in disbelief. "I had like, four beers."

"You had six, and any intoxication level qualifies as drunk with me," I stared at him, still holding his hands down by his sides, and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine." I let go of his hands with a satisfied smile and he kissed me, sliding his hands around the back of my neck and pulling me closer. "I'm still taking your shirt off though," he mumbled against my lips as his hands moved back around to my collar. I let him unbutton my shirt as we walked backwards to the couch, and he pushed it off of my shoulders and onto the floor.

"Fuck," I mumbled as he ran his hands down my chest and over my stomach, stopping at my waistband. Finally my knees hit the back of his couch and I sat down, pulling Patrick with me so he was straddling my lap. He stopped kissing me and leaned back to stare down at the ink covering my torso. A small whine came from the back of my throat but he ignored my protesting.

"You are so gorgeous," he told me breathlessly as he traced the tattoo I had gotten for my mom covering my chest.

My face heated. "Thanks, but you definitely have me beat there." Trick leaned down to kiss me again, leaving me unsatisfied with a small peck on my lips.

"Turn over," he requested, and I slowly shifted so I was laying on my stomach and he was sitting on my lower back.

"This position isn't compromising at all," I said sarcastically.

"Hush." He lightly hit the back of my shoulder before tracing my back piece with feather-light touches. He followed his fingers with his lips, leaving light kisses along my spine.

I shuddered, then quickly changed the subject before his lips could get too carried away.

"So did you have fun tonight?" I asked. He slid off of my back onto the floor and grinned at me, and I moved to a sitting position.

"Beats what I would've been doing. What'd you do with your car, by the way?" Patrick and I had walked to his place from the club, our fingers entwined, stopping for kisses occasionally.

"Matt came with Jenny. He's gonna take it home for me," I waved the question off. It was insignificant; I would've left it at the club if I had to, to make sure Trick got home safely. "What would you have been doing?"

He grinned wryly. "Sitting around watching TV and wondering why I didn't invite you in," he winked.

My stomach dropped at the prospect of what he was insinuating and I blinked, staring at him for a split second too long. He laughed, trying to ease the sudden tension, but suddenly my mind was filled with images of him beneath me, his low voice deepening, asking, _begging_ for more.

I quickly snapped out of it. I wasn't this...easy, usually. But something about Patrick and his body and the way the alcohol had him hanging onto me like a lifeline all night had me on edge.

I cleared my throat, breaking the only slightly awkward silence we had fallen into. I glanced at the clock he had hanging over the mantle. "So, um, I think I'll head home. You should sleep."

"Yeah, I probably should." He got up and walked into the back room, and for some reason I followed. I watched him peel his shirt off, then turned around politely as he undid the button on his pants and kicked them off. When I was sure he'd be under the covers, I turned to say goodnight, but he was already asleep. I chuckled at him, and started towards the door.

"No, wait," he said quietly. "You should stay." His eyes were still closed.

I looked at the door, then at Patrick's form. I sighed, then pulled my slacks off as well and got under the blanket with him. He immediately nuzzled his head into my chest, his hair touching my chin. He wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me close, curling around me.

I woke up entwined with Patrick. His face was still pressed against my chest with our legs tangled together under the blanket. It was the best sleep I'd had in a while.

I looked down at him. His eyes were closed softly, and his mouth was slightly open, but he was gorgeous nonetheless. His skin was pale and soft and clear, and his lips were quirked up at the corners.

His eyes fluttered open, feeling me looking at him. He smiled softly.

"Morning, Andy." Hearing his deep voice, raspy from last night's alcohol, made me realize that this wasn't a dream, and that I was actually laying on Patrick's bed, in Patrick's room, in Patrick's apartment, curled up next to Patrick.

I stretched my colorful arms above both our heads, yawning through a good morning.

He made an attempt to untangle our legs, giggling when he pulled the blanket off with his and wandering into the front room.

"I should probably get home," I said. "Kick Matt off my couch, make sure he didn't wreck my car."

Patrick returned holding my shirt that he tried to smooth out with his hands, then giving up and tossing it to me. It hit me in the face and he doubled over laughing. I rolled my eyes at him, standing up and buttoning my shirt.

"Bye, Tricky."

As I walked out into the front room to search for my shoes, which I had toed off at some point last night, Patrick leaned against the wall next to the door, rubbing his temples with his nose scrunched up.

"So, I know I called you my boyfriend last night," he began awkwardly. "Sorry if that was, I mean, sorry if that's not what you want." His eyes were cast downwards, looking at the floor, the table, anywhere but me. I walked over to him, sliding my hands around his waist to hug him.

"Patrick?" He looked at me, and I quickly asked, "Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

He grinned, the smile reaching every part of his face and lighting up his eyes.

He kissed me instead of answering, open-mouthed and hot. He pressed every inch of himself against me, and my entire body heated up.

Patrick pulled back, just enough to catch his breath, and practically undressed me with his eyes. He bit down on his lower lip, and suddenly I had the overwhelming urge to do the same.

I leaned back into him, pressing him against the wall. I kissed him hard, my lips bruising together with his, and he tipped his head back to allow me better access to his throat. I left open-mouthed kisses along his jawline, and when I reached the neckline of his shirt I tugged on the hem. He got the message and pulled his shirt up, undoing the buttons as it came off. I continued kissing his chest, sucking hard on his collarbone.

I blew over the quickly forming bruise I'd created and Patrick whined, showing off his vocal range, and writhed against me. "Please, Andy," he whispered, as he moved in a grind against my leg, and I could feel how hard he was through his pants.

"Yeah," I breathed out against his lips. "Yeah, okay." My own cock hardened in response to his breathy moans in my ear, and Patrick's hands tangled in my hair, where he fisted handfuls of it and tugged. I hummed into his mouth, liking the hair pulling, and he laughed slightly before muttering, "C'mon, bed."

We stumbled to Trick's room, our mouths barely separating. I fell back onto his bed and he straddled me, leaning down to kiss me as his hands fiddled with my zipper. He looked at me, biting his lip, his hair falling over his eyes, his face flushed and lips red and wet.

"You sure?" I asked him as he placed his hands on my chest. "We don't have to."

"I'm sure," he smiled softly at me. He ran his fingers over my stomach, making me arch into him, and then down to my waistband, this time undoing the button and zipper on my pants and yanking them down. I lifted my hips to help him get my slacks down to my knees and then kicked them the rest of the way off myself, as he kissed a trail from my chest to the waistband of my boxers. He didn't waste any time in discarding them and wrapping his hand around the base of my cock. I moaned and arched my back, trying to get more of me into his grasp.

"Here, come here," he said softly as he moved off of the bed and onto his knees on the carpet.

"Shit." I moved into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and he licked his lips, wetting them again.

He wrapped one hand around the base of my cock and I hissed as he put the head in between his lips, licking experimentally at my slit.

"Patrick, I can't fucking-"

"Hmm?" He hummed around my cock, making me buck my hips up into him.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" I couldn't finish my sentence because Patrick began sucking my cock, taking it as far back as he could without gagging, then dragging his lips back upward. I struggled to hold my hips still, trying not to give him too much, and he pulled back with a wet pop, smirking at me.

"Patrick," I whined. He rolled his eyes, but dipped his head back down to lick from the base of my cock to the head. He breathed through his nose and took my cock to the hilt, deep-throating and then swallowing so that his throat tightened around me. The sensation made me groan loudly and buck my hips to meet Patrick's mouth, which he took in stride.

"This...can't be the first time you've ever...done this. Fuck," I stuttered as I fucked Patrick's mouth.

He hummed around my cock, and I moved my hands from clutching the sheets to his hair. I looked down and caught him snaking his hand into his own boxers, and I tapped his head in warning. He pulled away slightly, then dove back down and captured the head of my cock in between his lips.

"Patrick," I whined out helplessly. He just placed his hand on my thigh and squeezed, and then I was coming, hot and white and-fuck, Patrick was amazing, sucking around the head of my cock and using his fingers to wipe away the stray drops that managed to escape from his mouth as he sat back and swallowed. Through coming down, I vaguely registered Patrick fisting his own dick, breathing hard and moving his arm quickly back and forth. I caught his shoulder and shook my head at him when he looked up at me.

"C'mere," I breathed out. He took the hand I held out to him and stood, and I kissed him as hard as I possibly could, sliding my hand around and massaging the back of his neck, pulling him down onto the bed with me. "Want me to...?" I asked tentatively. I was already half-hard again, imagining him writhing under me and breathing out my name.

"Shit, yeah," he said. "Please, Andy."

He didn't have to ask twice. I moved so I was hovering over Patrick and kissed a trail down his body, hooking my fingers over the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down. I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and moved it up and down slowly, as he hissed and adjusted himself.

"Do you have...?" I asked.

"Condoms in the nightstand, no lube," he said, and I all but glared at him. "Well sorry if I didn't expect to be having sex with you so soon. Fuck," he swore as I flicked my wrist a certain way and he arched into my hand.

He took my other hand that was clutching the sheet beside him and pulled it to his mouth, sucking on my fingers and licking around them to wet them. I was definitely fully hard now, and Patrick released my hand and let his legs fall open.

I leaned down to kiss him, slowly guiding my hand between his legs as his breathing hitched. This was better than any fucking shower fantasy, getting to push one finger inside of Patrick and let him tense up around me. "Fucking, oh god," his breathing stuttered, and his muscles relaxed. I moved the first finger in and out at a steady pace, Patrick breathing heavily, adding a second when I felt he was loose enough, then a third.

Patrick gritted his teeth. "Not that I don't really like this," he said. "But are you going to fuck me anytime soon?" I curled all three of my fingers inside of him to shut him up, applying pressure on the spot I knew would bring him to the edge. He seized up, gasping and moaning, and bucked his hips up into my fingers. "Andy, please," he whined urgently in his high voice, and I nodded, removing my fingers and reaching into the nightstand drawer beside us to pull out a silver wrapper. He took it from me, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it down my dick.

I positioned myself in between his legs and pushed the head of my cock into him. He sputtered for a moment, digging his fingernails into my shoulder blades. He eventually nodded and I pushed all the way in.

This, _this_ was the fucking best part. Watching Patrick fall apart beneath me as I rocked back and forth, hard and fast and hard again, neither of us in any condition to say anything but the other's name. I eventually got to a steady pace, biting down hard on my lip to keep the moans back. Patrick, on the other hand, had no problem letting me know exactly how much he was enjoying this. He called my name into the room, coupled with a loud groan, and began bucking his hips up to meet me halfway. I wrapped a hand around the base of his dick and squeezed slightly, pumping my hand and flicking my wrist on the upstroke.

"Andy, fuck," he muttered, and I leaned down to kiss him. I felt his come, hot and sticky, spilling over my fist as I fucked him through his orgasm. I felt myself tipping over the edge and bit down on his shoulder, groaning and shaking.

"That was intense," Patrick breathed out as I buried my face in the space between his neck and shoulder. I agreed, and so did my spent muscles. I wasn't about to move for another hundred years, at least.

I pulled out of Patrick, my hips aching at the motion, and knotted the condom, tossing it in the bin by the door.

I got back under the covers with Trick, not bothering to pull my boxers back on, and he slid into my arms. "So, are we gonna, talk about that?" He asked.

"Talk later, sleep now. You wore me out," I grinned at him. He winked at me and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek, but my phone rang on the nightstand before I could pull him closer for a real kiss.

I glanced at the name on the screen and groaned. "Matt, this better be fucking good," I warned. I realized my voice was extremely raw and scratchy, and wondered whether I was actually as quiet as I thought.

"Jesus, Hurley, did you drag your voice over hot coals?" I could practically hear Matt smirking through the phone.

"Shut up, Mixon." He snickered.

"Tell Matt I said hi," Patrick said into the phone, in between kisses at my jaw. His voice was even more raw than mine.

Matt screeched on the other end of the phone, so loud that I had to hold it away from my ear. "You _slept_ with him? Oh my god! Oh my god!" He moved the phone away from his mouth and shouted. "Kelly! Andy fucked Patrick! Or maybe Patrick fucked him, I haven’t figured it out yet!"

"Thanks for announcing the specifics of my love life to the entirety of Fuck City. I really appreciate it," I deadpanned.

Mixon chuckled. "I don't have specifics, but if you're in the mood to tell me, I'd be happy to reiterate them to Kelly for you."

"Fuck off, Matt," I laughed. "What do you want?"

"Well I was calling to tell you I dropped your car off safe and unharmed, but it seems like that's the least of your concerns right now."

“Yep,” I agreed happily. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, meet me for breakfast?"

"Matt," I groaned, biting my lip because Patrick was sliding his mouth down my chest and stomach, and I had a pretty good idea where it was going to end up. "I've kinda got other things going on at the moment."

"Patrick's invited too!" Mixon exclaimed, and Patrick apparently heard because he smiled up at me and nodded.

"We'll be there. Text me where," I said quickly into the phone before hanging up on Matt. I laced my fingers in Patrick's hair as he bit at the insides of my thighs.

I was so totally fucked.

**  
  
**

NOW

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at the expense of the county."

I listen to Patrick read the Miranda rights to the idiot, who decided it would be cool to break into a winter home owned by some multi-millionaire and try to disable the security alarm. Patrick finishes cuffing the guy's hands behind his back against the car and shoves him into the back of my cruiser.  

"Usually they aren't that stupid," he rolls his eyes as he closes the door and walks over to me. I cap my pen, having filled out the report, and grin at him.

"They're always that stupid."

"We better get back," I frown. "They're probably gonna send him to the state if this guy presses charges." As wrong as breaking into houses is, the guy is young and probably just showing off; he doesn't deserve to have his life ruined.

"Yeah," Patrick agrees. "But you know the drill, even better than me. Money gets good lawyers."

I simply nod, feeling sorry for the guy, and duck into the car. A moment later, Patrick opens the passenger side door and slides into the other side.

He looks over at me while I'm driving and frowns at my reserved expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks me, glancing down at my hand that's resting on the center console.

"Yeah, I'm fine." A new addition to all the cruisers was a soundproof, bulletproof glass between the back and front seats, so Patrick and I could speak freely. "This job just gets to me sometimes. I feel like the bad guy a lot, y'know? Especially when the 'criminals' are usually just innocent kids that make mistakes."

"It isn't your fault." Patrick reached for my hand, which I let him take, and softly rubbed his thumb over the backs of my knuckles as he spoke. It calmed me down, and I grasped his hand tighter. "It's just the law; it's our job to uphold it. If we let people like this get away, they'd probably do it again and again."

"I know," I smiled at him. "It just isn't easy."

After turning the guy in to the county, Patrick and I resume our shift and drive around our zoned off piece of the city, listening to the scanner. It's a slow day, so the few calls that come through are outside of our zone. We get coffee, and when our hands brush together while handing him his cup, I lace our fingers together. He doesn't let go.

"Okay, no, Tratt takes the guy out on his bike, then runs _him_ over with the car."

"No, no no," Patrick doubles over in his seat, clutching his stomach in laughter. "Tratt is the one on his bike and the guy runs him over with the car."

We're playing a game that we used to all the time: making up stories for the craziest codes that come through the scanner.

The speaker crackles and Patrick and I both look up to the dashboard. _We have a 211A, 3323 West Villard. All units respond._ I instantly recognize the address: the bank we had used for Patrick and I’s savings account, which is now just mine. I make an immediate and very illegal three-point turn in the middle of the road, flicking on the siren.

Patrick presses the call button quickly on the scanner. “Unit A responding.”

"Fuckers," I spit. "Trying to make careers out of robbing banks."

I turn off the siren a couple blocks from the bank and park a block down, not wanting whoever’s inside to notice we’re there. Patrick and I jog lightly to the doors, noticing the gigantic front window’s been smashed and that the alarm's been disabled.

We step through, dislodging chunks of glass, and remove our guns from the holsters. A loud smashing sound comes from the back of the bank, where I assume the safe is, and I step carefully towards the source of the sound. I hold the button on the radio attached to my shoulder and whisper into the microphone. "Backup needed, 3323 West Villard.

Patrick turns away from me and shouts, "Andy!" Something hits me in the arm, then harder in the chest. Two figures clad in black run across the bank floor, each wielding a duffel bag and a small shotgun. Patrick fires at one of the figures, missing them by an inch, and then runs over to me with his hand on his shoulder, shouting something into his radio.

The pain is more than excruciating, nearing unbearable, knocking the wind out of my chest as I stagger back against the wall and sink down into the broken glass covering the floor.

My eyes threaten to close but I force them to stay open and watch Patrick kneel down in front of me. Two medics come in and lift me onto a stretcher. I try to tell them I'm fine to walk, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is a choked wheezing sound and they tell me not to speak.

I don't black out the entire ride to the hospital; I wish I could, the way my arm is throbbing. The medics cut away my bulletproof vest. They explain to me that the vest stopped the bullet, but there is some possible internal damage from the impact. I nod along but then shake my head wildly when they try to give me morphine for the pain; they agree, probably assuming I'm allergic, and it gives the situation some humor.

They run tests on me that take hours. I'm still in my uniform, so Matt brings by some clothes from my apartment: a plaid shirt, jeans, and a Metallica shirt that I immediately recognize as Patrick's.

I leave the shirt in the paper bag, opting to button up the plaid shirt and pull on the jeans. Someone knocks on the door. "Come in," I call as I sit back on the bed.

Patrick walks in, wielding an armful of fresh fruit and a coffee, the door swinging shut behind him.

"I'm guessing they don't have many vegan selections," he teases.

I look up at him, hoping my gratitude is conveyed in my gaze. "Many? They're nonexistent." He tosses me an orange, and the arm that was hit protests, but other than that I feel fine.

Patrick sits on the edge of my bed. "So what're you in for?"

"They wanna make sure I don't have any internal damage from the vest." He slumps his shoulders, sighing in relief. "Other than that, I'm free to go. I am pissed about having to get that tattoo redone, though."

He laughs incredulously. "Not pissed about getting shot, or possibly having broken ribs, but that your tattoo was messed up. You're insane."

"You love it, Stump," comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"More than I should," he mumbles. He smiles sadly, looking down at his hands. "I was really scared for a moment, when you first... You looked like you were going to black out, and your arm was bleeding so much." He cuts himself off, his eyes glazing over. He gets quieter, if that's even possible. "I thought I wouldn't get a chance to..." He leans in slowly, eyes fluttering shut, and presses his lips to mine. It's a slow, short kiss, but I understand what he means instantly.

"I can't ignore what happened between us," he says. "I can't forget it. I won't."

"Then don't," I all but beg, placing my hand on the back of his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. My lips move urgently with his and he sighs into my mouth, opening his so that I can trace the roof of his mouth with my tongue. He eventually moves to straddle my lap, fisting handfuls of my hair. His hands are everywhere, moving to my back where they clutch the plaid shirt. I'm out of practice kissing him. So out of practice.

I pull away slightly, resting my nose on his. "Be my boyfriend?" I ask, breathless.

"Look how well that turned out last time." He says, just as out of air as me.

"I know what my mistakes were last time. I won't make the same ones. I promise you that much." He stays silent, so I add, "Please, Tricky. I missed you."

Pause. "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I'll be your boyfriend again." I grin widely, kissing him again and again, unable to let go of him.

"I'm planning the wedding," Kelly tells me over a basket of French fries. I choke on my water.

"Wh-what? We're not getting married."

"I know," she tells me matter-of-factly. "I'm just saying that when you do, I'm planning it."

"Patrick might object to that," I point at her with a fry.

"Well he can help," she says.

"I wanna wear something green. Packers green. He'll probably want blue. And a lot of flowers." I find myself daydreaming of Patrick walking down the aisle toward me, but I'm broken out of it by Kelly's soft laugh.

"I was just joking, but obviously you weren't. I hope it goes well when you ask him. Gotta go!" She places ten dollars on the table and leaves the fast food restaurant without waiting for my answer.

****  
  



End file.
